Ho'opa'i
by Farky-fark and the Munky Bunch
Summary: On December 7th, 1941, Pearl Harbor is the victim of a surprise attack by the Japanese. In the aftermath of the disaster, chaos is brought to the peaceful islands of Hawai'i as Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes, releases the infamous Kāne 'Ōkala of legend to exact his revenge... SanSan Pearl Harbor AU. The title means 'revenge' in Hawaiian.
1. Ho'omaka 'ana

**A/N: **So, this story was inspired by two things. One, I just recently found and played the Nancy Drew computer game _The Creature of Kapu Cave_ for nostalgia's sake, and two, one of my close friends just joined the Navy and left for basic training. That being said, the aforementioned game gets credit for the legend of Kāne 'Ōkala, since as far as I've found, it isn't an actual Hawaiian legend. Now, _that_ being said, this is a prologue of sorts to what will become a Pearl Harbor AU SanSan story. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I have had coming up with this idea, and sometime in the future, I will begin to write more for this story. Many thanks to my unofficial beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII** for looking over this and encouraging me to start this story when I told her my idea for it. Credit for the cover art goes to AndreeWallin at Deviantart. And, reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to George R. R. Martin and Kāne 'Ōkala belongs to Her Interactive. The plot, however, is mine. And history's. And Samuel Collins is mine.

* * *

"The story of a kupua named Kāne 'Ōkala is not as widely known. Back in ancient days, at a time when Pele's rumblings were particularly ominous, the people in a village close to her home in Kilauea decided to try and placate her with a sacrifice. But instead of offering her food, which would have been a true sacrifice since they had not managed their crops well that year, they seized an ill-tempered man whom no one particularly liked and tossed him into the crater.

"Pele realized that the man was not a sincere sacrifice as soon as her flames began to devour him. Furious, she ejected the burning man, flinging him into the forest. As the rain there doused the flames that had half-consumed him, she gave him an appetite for revenge that rivaled her own.

"As soon as he could stand, the man went rampaging across the island, unleashing insects, vermin and disease, laying waste to crops, destroying the very thing the selfish and deceitful villagers had withheld from Pele, causing widespread hunger and starvation.

"Those who saw him said he was terrifying in sound and appearance, his voice destroyed by Pele's fire, his face disfigured by the flames; his skin horribly mottled and pocked. They called him Kāne 'Ōkala, or rough-skinned man.

"When at last Pele felt avenged, she locked him away in one of her many caves so no one, including herself, would have to look at him again. But whenever her anger is aroused, or she feels that her beloved islands are in danger or she has otherwise been disrespected, she releases Kāne 'Ōkala and allows him to once again do her vengeful bidding..."

There was a moment of silence before Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins snorted in disbelief. "That's all bullshit and you know it."

Makoa Kahale shrugged indifferently. "I'm just telling you what my father told me, and he was told by his father before him, who was told by his father before him, who was told by—"

His fellow officer waved him silent and sighed. "Yeah, yeah. His father before him. We get it. But I still stay it's bull. Back in America proper, we don't have ridiculous stories about burned men rampaging through the jungle. Although, in general, we only believe in one god, not however many you Hawaiians have."

Kahale shrugged again then glanced over to his right. "What do you think, Miss Stark?"

Sansa Stark, a young nurse who had recently joined the American war effort, glanced up from where she was putting fresh sheets on one of the makeshift hospital beds. "Oh, I don't know, sir," she said quietly. "Like Petty Officer Collins said, I tend to believe in the god that my mother raised me to. But I haven't been on the islands long enough to believe anything different. If the story is true, then I suppose I feel sorry for Kāne 'Ōkala."

Collins ignored the latter statement and responded to the sentiment that had preceded it. "_None_ of us will be on these islands long enough to believe it, Miss Stark. Mark my words, one way or the other, this war will be over within the year."

* * *

The attack on Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7th, 1941, was nothing less than a complete surprise.

When the fighting was finally over, there were 3,508 American casualties, not including the destruction of the ships that had held the now decimated crews or the hundreds of aircraft that had been blown to pieces before they had even had the chance to take to the skies in defense of the harbor. Among those dead was Makoa Kahale, who had been found praying to Pele to exact her revenge on the Japanese with his dying breath.

The next day, the United States declared war on Japan, and officially entered the Second World War on December 11th, 1941, when Germany and Italy made their own declarations of war upon the grieving nation.

* * *

Sansa Stark had little time to grieve herself during the days that followed the attack. Though the nation's entry into the war meant that her two older brothers would be sent across the sea to fight the German army, she thought only of the wounded soldiers that she found in her care.

"We sure could use that Kāne 'Ōkala bastard now, eh? Let him go fuck up the Japs."

She looked up from changing the bandage on Collins' leg to meet his gaze, nodding absently in agreement as he laughed wryly. His injury was too severe, and already far too infected, though she hated to be the one to have to tell him that they would have to amputate.

He didn't take the news well.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, Sansa finally found a reprieve when Myranda Royce all but forced her out of the medical ward, and she meandered along the edge of the Pacific, not really paying any attention to where she was going.

When she reached the edge of the jungle, she fell to the ground and allowed herself to cry for the first time since the attack, all her grief expelling itself in wracking sobs. It was only as her tears began to dry that she became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor of the jungle, and, fearing a Japanese land attack, she sprang to her feet, only to come face to face with a man—if she could even call it that.

Admittedly, it _was_ a man, though the clothes that covered his body were all but rags and they did little to hide the flame-ravaged skin beneath, raw and red in the light of the sun. Gasping, she looked away from his terrible scarred face and found herself staring down at a pair of large, bare feet. They, at least, appeared to have survived the worst of the flames.

He stared at her as she stared at anything but him and when she managed to regain her voice, she could only speak in a whisper. "Why are you here?"

At that, a bitter laugh tore itself from his burned throat and he rasped out a single word: "Ho'opa'i."


	2. Kaikua'ana

**A/N: **I wasn't expecting to have another chapter written by now, let alone posted, but I'm getting more inspiration for this than I had initially thought I would, so…here's chapter two. The title of this chapter means 'brother' in Hawaiian. Also, I have never attended a military funeral, but I did research on them, so…I tried my best with the beginning scene. Anyway, thank you to everyone who favorited (I know that's not a word, but whatever) followed, or reviewed this story after I posted chapter 1. Reviews are still (and always) appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive, except for Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins. He is mine. And is based off of my friend Sam who I mentioned in the author's note of chapter one.

* * *

"We gathered here today to grieve for our fallen brothers. They lost their lives defending their country—_our _country—and as such, will be buried today as the heroes that they were in life."

Sansa watched solemnly from her place at the fringe of the funeral ceremony as the chaplain gazed out over the thousands of American flag-adorned caskets that lay side by side across the bloodstained beach.

"Each and every one of us here today has cause to mourn, and yet we must not let our grief keep us from our duty as officers in the United States Naval Forces. There is still an enemy lying in wait across the Pacific, and it is now our responsibility to complete the task that these brave men died trying to finish. We must fight our hardest, be our bravest, and win this war—for them."

At their superior officer's command, two thousand sailors snapped to attention and gave the final salute to their fallen comrades as the lone bugler standing at the chaplain's side began playing _Taps_. When the echo of the final notes faded, there was a moment of silence, and then the crowd dissipated, returning to their stations, or, for the seven hundred sailors who had been injured in the attack, back to the hospital.

Sansa took the handles of Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins' wheelchair and slowly followed her fellow nurses and their respective patients to the medical ward, deep in thought. _We are not the only ones seeking revenge for this disaster_, she mused quietly, a chill running up her spine. _**He **__is out there somewhere as well._

They were nearly to the doors when Collins spoke up, breaking her from her reverie. "Would you marry me if I asked, Miss Stark?"

Sansa looked down at him in surprise and gave a quiet laugh of disbelief. "I think you need some rest, Petty Officer Collins."

He frowned slightly at that and shook his head. "Call me Sam. But I'm serious. At least agree to a date." He paused for a moment and then began again, his voice low and rough with audible grief. "This attack...and now that Kahale's dead..." he sighed and ran a hand across his face. "It's all reminded me that there are too few good things left on this earth. And you're one of them." When she still hesitated, he gave her a weary smile. "Come on...just one date. Can't you at least humor a dying man?"

"You aren't dying," she replied reflexively, then sighed and smiled slightly. "But very well. I can't see that _one_ date would do any harm."

At that, his smile brightened and he looked up at her as Myranda took control of his wheelchair. "In that case, Miss Stark, I'll be waiting for you tonight beside my berth at 19:00 sharp with a bedpan just waiting for you to empty it."

Sansa laughed, a true, genuine laugh, and she waved his comment away as she left the hospital, rolling her eyes and biting her lip to contain her mirth. Though he still made the occasional reference to the belief that he was slowly dying, Officer Collins had recovered surprisingly well—mentally—after the amputation, and Sansa had a feeling it was more out of guilt than anything. She knew he wasn't the only soldier who felt that he didn't deserve to have survived the attack.

Once outside, her thoughts returned to the burned man that she had encountered in the jungle and Makoa Kahale's words echoed in her mind. _"As the rain there doused the flames that had half-consumed him, she gave him an appetite for revenge that rivaled her own." _

She hadn't remembered running after he had spoken in his terrible rasping voice, but before she realized what was happening, she had been halfway to the hospital, tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from the terrifying presence of Kāne 'Ōkala.

Now that she had had time to think about her actions, she felt vaguely guilty, at the very least because her dear mother had taught her better manners than to run screaming from a handicapped man. She snorted. As if 'handicapped' was the word to describe him. She had caught but a glimpse of his face, having been more focused on his feet during their conversation, but what she remembered was horrifying.

Nevertheless, when she found herself returning to the place that she had seen him, she didn't turn back, because something—curiosity, disgust, attraction—drew her to him; something that she couldn't resist.

When she reached the clearing, she found herself very much alone and huffed in frustration. Of course, she hadn't exactly expected him to have stayed in that very spot for three days awaiting her return, but she had allowed herself to hope that he too felt whatever it was that she did that had made her come back. Just as she was about to turn around and return to the hospital, her hopes—_fears_—were confirmed.

"Manu li'ili'i."

She gasped audibly and whirled around, her hand flying to cover her now pounding heart. And there he stood, leaning against a tree for support, what could almost be called amusement written across his hideous features.

"I'm American," she managed to whisper, hoping that the statement would be enough to alert him to the fact that she spoke very little Hawaiian. At that, another thought crossed her mind and she frowned. "Aren't you?"

He laughed, a terrible noise that sounded like the harsh grating of metal against stone. "No. I was born far before Hawai'i became a part of America." His mirth subsided slightly and he added in a mutter, "Though gods know I don't know when that was. I'd give anything to be able to read the last two hundred years worth of newspapers."

Sansa stood stunned as he mumbled to himself and took the opportunity to push aside her revulsion and get a good look at the infamous Kāne 'Ōkala of legend. He was a tall man, well over six feet if not closer to seven, and his broad shoulders pushed through the tattered rags that he wore as clothing. _At least he's modest. He could be rampaging naked through the jungles._ She bit back a laugh at the absurdity of the thought.

Though the burns that covered his body were truly as awful as Kahale's story had suggested, his eyes, deep grey and dark with anger, had survived the worst of the flames and he even had one eyebrow left which was currently cocked slightly at her as she stared. He still had half a head of dark stringy hair that fell to his shoulders and the section of his jaw that remained unscathed was covered in a thick beard that tapered off into a mass of red mottled flesh and exposed bone.

When she shuddered involuntarily, she could hear him snort and her guilt returned, churning sourly in her gut as she looked away from him and once again, down to his feet. There was a moment of silence between them before she found her voice again.

"What does it mean? Manu li'ili'i?"

His eyebrow rose higher and he looked her over for a moment before replying. "Little bird. I called you little bird."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

This time, she was sure that the look on his face was one of amusement.

"Because you were so quick to fly away the other day when you saw me. What had you been expecting, little bird? They do call me Kāne 'Ōkala for a reason."

_Rough-skinned man._ Yes, that did make sense. Although, if she were to answer his question truthfully, she had been so shocked because frankly, she had agreed with Collins—Sam—on his opinion on the story's merit.

She was trying to think of a way to respond when a familiar voice floated through the trees in their direction. "Sansa! Sansa, where are you?"

That was Myranda, which meant that Sansa's break had long since ended. Usually, her friend was lenient with making her return on time.

Looking back up at the man before her, she schooled her features and then said calmly. "I have to get back."

"To your sailor?" There was a slight edge to his tone.

"What?"

"The blond in the wheelchair. Have to go back and tend to his…needs?"

She blushed at the crude insinuation as he reminded her that she had in fact agreed to a date with Collins that evening.

"That is none of your concern," she replied curtly, then turned on her heel and stomped off through the jungle, her face burning with shame and embarrassment at the childish way that she knew she was acting. However, that awful Kāne 'Ōkala had struck a nerve and she had no intentions of remaining to continue their conversation. As she stormed off, she thought she heard him chuckle, and then a single familiar word reached her ears in his broken, rasping voice.

"Sansa..."


	3. Ahi

**A/N: **Here's chapter three. Just a few things to mention. One, I hate _A Farewell to Arms _with a burning passion. But it's about a war, and the relationship between a soldier and a nurse, so it fits. Two, I do not hate anyone of Japanese descent (and for the record, neither does my friend Sam). I just want to make it clear that all the feelings towards the aforementioned group that are addressed in this story and are historically accurate to the time and the situation—nothing more. And that does not mean that I agree with them in any way. That being said, thank you again to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed this story, and, as always, reviews are appreciated. Also, 'ahi' means 'fire' in Hawaiian, and 'kiapolō' means 'demon'.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive, except for Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins. He is mine.

* * *

"Champagne, my lady?"

Sansa laughed quietly and shook her head as Sam poured himself a glass of brandy from an old, cracked wine bottle.

There was a brief moment of silence as he drank before he set his glass down again and smiled at her. "Thank you for this, Miss Stark. It means more to me than you realize."

She looked away, a pretty blush rising to color her cheeks and she murmured quietly in response. "It's Sansa. Call me Sansa."

"Very well...Sansa. What is it that you've brought for me?"

Meeting his gaze again, she lifted the book from her lap and smiled slightly. "_A Farewell to Arms_. It's a classic."

He raised an eyebrow. "I think a farewell to legs would be more appropriate, don't you?" He gestured vaguely toward what was left of his right leg and then sighed when Sansa frowned at him. "Alright, I'll stop with the amputee jokes. I suppose you get enough of those as it is."

"It's alright," she replied. "Better that you all have a sense of humor about it."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Speaking of things you've had enough of…" He glanced around then leaned toward her with a smirk. "What do you say we get out of here? You spent far too much time beneath this roof, Miss Stark."

She raised an eyebrow and considered the implications of his statement for a moment, a familiar voice echoing in her mind. _"The blond in the wheelchair. Have to go back and tend to his...needs?"_ The embarrassment she had endured at that sentiment helped her to make her decision. "Sure."

His smile growing, he let her help him into his wheelchair and then whistled cheerily as she wheeled him out of the hospital and toward a secluded spot on the beach.

_So what if I have a relationship with Sam? _she thought rather viciously. _It isn't any business of his._ And of course, the fact that he had described Collins as "the blond in the wheelchair" was evidence enough that he had had the nerve to _watch_ her while she was on duty. The full realization of that fact brought a blush to her cheeks and she huffed indignantly to herself.

When her patient was settled comfortably in the sand, facing the dark expanse of the Pacific, he reached back and took her hand, a smile gracing his full lips as he led her around to stand in front of him. "Come here." He pulled her down into his lap and she blushed fiercely as she felt his face nestle in her thick auburn curls before his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

"You were going to read to me?"

She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat, and opened to the first page of _A Farewell to Arms_ with trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, she met his encouraging smile with a timid one of her own before beginning to read.

"In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels. Troops went by the house and down the road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees. The trunks of the trees too were dusty and the leaves fell early that year and we saw the troops marching along the road and the dust rising and leaves, stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers marching and afterward the road bare and white except for the l-leaves..."

She faltered when she felt his arms tighten around her waist and she squirmed a bit in his lap, nervous because of their proximity and his obvious attraction to her.

"Sam..." It came out breathier than she had intended and her heart started pounding when she felt his lips against her ear.

"Sansa..."

Thankfully, a rosy glow from the other side of the jungle gave her an excuse to extract herself from his arms and she stood hastily. "No, Sam, look." She pointed to the horizon and he frowned for a moment before following her finger.

"Is that...?" he began in disbelief, and then a dark grey cloud of smoke obscured the moon and their fears were confirmed.

_Fire._

"Go get help," she ordered him, and she barely registered his nod in response before she began to run across the beach toward the edge of the jungle.

Waipahu was the village beyond the jungle; a small sugar plantation community made up of a majority of Japanese immigrants who worked for the Oahu Sugar Company. The burning sugar would explain the sticky sweet odor that hung in the air.

By the time she reached the fringe of the village, it was burnt beyond recognition, just a smoldering heap of collapsed buildings and charred bodies that had once been a thriving community.

Even as she stood there, she began to make out a shape moving toward her through the smoke and her heart leapt to her throat. _A survivor!_ Her mind immediately started the planning that would be needed to treat a village full of burn victims, but stopped mid-thought as she recognized the figure that stood before her.

With the help of what she remembered from the legend that Makoa had told her, she put two and two together and she only barely managed to contain the surge of anger directed at Kāne 'Ōkala before she heard the sound of boots on the jungle floor.

"Go!" she hissed at him, and he was close enough now for her to see his eyebrow lift in confusion. "Get out of here," she urged. "There are soldiers coming."

Silently, he disappeared into the jungle and it was only a moment before the group of soldiers emerged from the trees.

"What the hell happened here?" The captain muttered as he and his men surveyed the carnage before them. "Miss Stark, report."

She cast a glance in the direction that Kāne 'Ōkala had gone then looked back at the sailors, all of whom had curious eyes fixed in her direction.

"I was on the beach with—with..." she hesitated, and she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. "Petty Officer Collins." She heard a few snickers, but they were quickly quieted when the man in mention wheeled himself onto the scene and glowered at his subordinates. Her blush deepened when he smiled at her and she turned back to Captain Tucker to avoid his gaze. "And I saw the fire. I ran here as fast as I could, but...it was too late."

Tucker nodded thoughtfully then strode into the midst of the destruction and knelt down beside one of the corpses, less ravaged by the flames than many of the others. Finally, he looked back up at Sansa. "Too late for what, Miss Stark? This was a village of Japs. The same yellow bastards who destroyed our harbor. And you were _"too late"_?" He shook his head. "No. You were just in time. I wish I could've been here with you to watch it burn." He stood and spat at the body of the Japanese worker. "I say good riddance."

Sansa was sickened to see that many of his men were murmuring in agreement and she had to turn away when she noticed that even Sam was nodding in agreement.

"Of course, Captain," she said quietly as the regiment turned to leave the scene of the disaster.

He looked at her for a moment in contemplative silence before nodding curtly and leading his men away, leaving only herself, Petty Officer Collins, and the man who was no doubt watching from somewhere nearby.

"Are you alright, Sansa?" Sam asked gently, wheeling himself over and placing a comforting hand on the small of her back.

She smiled weakly at him and nodded before tearing her gaze away and looking back at the body that Tucker had desecrated with his blind hatred. "I'm fine. I just…I need a moment. Let Randa know that I'll be back soon."

He raised an eyebrow but obeyed without argument, leaving her alone with only her thoughts and the corpses to keep her company. It was longer than she had anticipated before she heard the footsteps behind her and he finally spoke.

"Sansa."

She turned to face him, staring brazenly into his ruined features as he steadily met her gaze. "You monster." Her hand struck his cheek before he could react and when he turned his face back toward her, his grey eyes were dark with anger and malice.

"So you've figured me out. Yes, little bird, I'm a monster. And I was even before I had the face to match. There wasn't a man on the islands who didn't hate Sandor Clegane—who didn't curse him behind his back and call him "kiapolō" to his face. So that's what Pele turned me into, and now that name belongs to a man who no longer exists. But tell me, manu li'ili'i, what makes you so fucking _perfect_?"

She floundered for a moment in the face of his rage, but managed to regain her ground and retorted hotly, "I didn't kill a village full of innocent people!"

"Innocent?" He snorted wryly. "You heard the men. The bloody "Japs" deserved to die. I didn't do it for them though. I did it because Pele sought vengeance against those who harmed her islands. You listen to me, little bird." He stepped closer and when she was forced to look away, he grabbed her chin roughly and forced her gaze back to his face. "When Pele's wrath is aroused, no one on this island is safe? Do you understand me? _No one._"


	4. Mo'olelo

**A/N: **Here's chapter four. For one, sort of an Easter egg here, the Nazi soldier mentioned at the end of this chapter is Jaqen H'ghar. Also, the title of this chapter means 'legend', 'a'u ho'ohiki' means 'I promise', and 'wahine' means 'woman'. Thank to all of my followers/favorite-ers and my one reviewer, **soubifan700**. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as always, reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive. Except for Sam; he's mine.

* * *

She had run again, this time with tears of fear and anger blurring her vision as she stumbled through the ruddy-tinged jungle. And once again, he had let her go, though this time, she could feel his gaze heavy on her back until she had disappeared from view.

When she reached the edge of the jungle, she slowed and managed to regain her composure before walking calmly into the hospital. Myranda was waiting for her, a worried expression clouding her pretty features.

"Sans, are you alright? Sam told me that there was a fire...?"

Sansa nodded. "Waipahu doesn't exist anymore. Someone must've been careless with a match. It was just a shock that's all. I'm fine, Randa. I promise."

Her friend looked skeptical, but she didn't offer any contradiction, merely sighing and taking Sansa's hand. "Then maybe you should get some rest, Sansa. I mean, a real break. I could talk to Vice Admiral Anderson and see if he'd be willing to send you back home for a few weeks. You've been working practically nonstop since the attack, more so than the rest of us. And besides," she added with a playful smirk. "You know Rick'll let you go if I ask."

At that, Sansa blushed. Her friend was certainly cavalier in her personal life, and a good number of the sailors at Pearl Harbor had had the pleasure of getting intimately acquainted with the pretty young nurse; Vice Admiral Richard Anderson being one of them.

"I said I'm fine, Randa." Sansa insisted. "I just..." she sighed. "I could use some sleep. We all could after what's happened this week."

Myranda nodded in agreement. "In that case, why don't you at least take tomorrow off? Shae can cover your shift, and...I know there's a certain sailor who would appreciate spending a little more time with you." They both looked toward Sam who smiled sheepishly when he realized he had been caught staring and waved. Myranda laughed and swatted Sansa on the backside to get her moving, making her blush even harder.

Although she truly would've preferred to just be alone for once, she knew that Collins was expecting her to come over so she forced herself to walk in his direction, though his smile made her stomach sour.

_Don't be ridiculous, Sansa_, she chastised herself. _You have to be the only one on this island who doesn't wish the most painful death upon the Japanese. They aren't cruel for their anger, just...misguided._

Having settled her feeling of discomfort, she sat down beside Sam's hospital bed and folded her hands in her lap.

"My ears were burning," he said with a smile, taking a pull from the bottle of brandy that still sat on the small table between them.

"Yes, well, that's just because Randa doesn't know how to mind her own damn business," Sansa snapped, frowning when Sam laughed in obvious amusement.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just funny to hear a curse coming from the pretty lips of the perfect lady Sansa Stark."

_"Tell me, manu li'ili'i, what makes you so fucking _perfect_?"_

At the memory of Kāne 'Ōkala's cruelty, her stomach turned and she had to look away from the amused smile of the man before her.

Suddenly, his tone was one of concern. "Are you okay?" Were her feelings truly so easy to decipher?

"Fine," she said with a forced smile. "Just tired."

"Alright." He didn't seem convinced, but he shrugged noncommittally nonetheless. "Then since you're so tired, I say we postpone our date until tomorrow. I think I heard Randa telling you that you would be free all day."

Sansa cocked an eyebrow. "Our date? I only remember agreeing to one, Petty Officer."

Sam grinned. "Yes, but if you don't recall, our evening together was rather ruined by the spontaneous combustion of Waipahu."

That it had been, though she couldn't say she had minded an escape from his overwhelming affection. Nevertheless, she surrendered to the pleading look in his bright blue eyes. "Very well. But not until tomorrow evening. You need some rest too, Sam. In case you've forgotten, you had half of your right leg amputated a few days ago."

He sighed. "As if I could forget. I'm hideous now."

"No you're not," she replied reflexively, though she instantly regretted the manners she had learned so well when his eyes darkened slightly and he reached out for her hand.

"I am in comparison to you."

She looked down at her lap, where her small pale fingers were entwined with the dark calloused ones of the sailor beside her, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her slightly parted lips. Some part of her was surprised that she didn't pull away, and instead, she found herself closing her eyes as she shyly returned the kiss. When he pulled away after a few seconds, he had a wide grin on his face and he settled back against his pillow with a contented sigh.

"Tomorrow evening it is then, Miss Stark."

* * *

As it turned out, she had needed her day off more than she would've liked to admit, more for the solitude than anything, and she spent it reveling in the peaceful stillness of the empty jungle. Though she had been half expecting Kāne 'Ōkala to materialize from the tree line as he so often seemed to, he did no such thing, and he still hadn't appeared by the time she found herself on a small section of the beach that was shielded from view by the low-hanging trees of the jungle.

After making sure that she _was_ truly alone, she slipped out of her dress and let it fall to the ground as she stripped the rest of the way and then released her long auburn hair from its usual bun. The feeling of the sand between her toes was a strangely freeing sensation and she sighed deeply before stepping into the water.

She happily indulged her guilty pleasure—heaven forbid Catelyn Stark ever find out that her daughter had engaged in such risqué behavior—for the better part of an hour before the sun began to set and she reluctantly started swimming back to shore.

As soon as she set foot on the beach, she became aware of the dark figure seated at the base of a nearby tree and she gasped audibly as her hands flew to cover her breasts. Her attempt at modesty was met with the sound of harsh laughter.

"You—you—!"

"Monster?"

At that, her guilt regarding their interaction the previous night returned and she shuffled her feet in the sand. "I was going to say dirty lecher."

This time, his laugh was a deep, genuine chuckle, and she smiled at him shyly before looking back down at her toes. When his amusement had faded, there was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again. "You look good with your hair down, manu li'ili'i. And naked, of course, though your hands are robbing me of the full view."

She blushed and chose to ignore the latter statement. As if he hadn't been watching her swim the whole time.

"Thank you...Sandor."

Again, a moment of silence passed, and then, "Nobody's called me that for a very long time."

Sansa found her curiosity roused and she bent down to retrieve her dress before asking what was on her mind. "How long?"

He snorted. "Would you believe over two hundred years?" Some part of her had expected a similar answer, but hearing it so casually confirmed was a bit of a shock.

She was quiet for a few seconds, then frowned. "I'm afraid I don't really understand though...I mean, the story I heard about you; I thought it was just a legend."

His expression shifted slightly and he stood. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

He led her farther inland than she had ever been since she had arrived at Pearl Harbor: past the ruins of Waipahu, and deep into the heart of the jungle where finally, they reached the entrance to a cave. He walked in without a second thought, but quickly returned when Sansa hesitated.

"I'll keep you safe, little bird, a'u ho'ohiki."

Nodding, she gathered her courage and followed him in, feeling blindly along the walls as they descended into complete darkness. Just as the last light from the entrance faded into nothingness, Sansa felt a large rough hand take hold of hers and she was grateful that the darkness concealed the blush that was no doubt rising to her cheeks.

"This way."

Sansa nodded again and tightened her grip on his hand. "How can you see down here?"

"I can't," came the reply a few seconds later. "I just know where I'm going."

That wasn't quite the answer she had been hoping for, but she forced herself to trust that he would keep her safe as he had promised.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she was finally aware of a faint glow from somewhere in front of them and Sandor's pace quickened slightly.

"Almost there." As it turned out, 'there' was a massive open cavern, illuminated by torches along each of its walls. Sansa looked around in awe.

"What is this place?"

"Natural cavern. What we came through was a lava tube. We're underneath Mount Koolau right now."

"That's amazing..." Sansa breathed, turning to take in the full effect of the space. Once satisfied that she had seen all there was to see, she walked over to a bedroll along one wall and raised here eyebrows. Around it were piles of military rations, another set of tattered clothing, and, on it, a faded magazine with an image of a scantily clad young woman on the front. He cleared his throat when he realized what she was looking at and hastily snatched it up with a gruff, "Just something one of the sailors misplaced."

Sansa rolled her eyes.

"So you live here?"

He nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. "It's where Pele trapped me after I was first burned."

Sansa nodded thoughtfully. "How much of the story is true?"

Kāne—Sandor, shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure what story's out there anymore. What were you told?"

He gestured for her to sit as she began her story and then did the same. Sandor listened attentively as she relayed Mokoa's tale as best she remembered it, and by the time she was finished, he was regarding her with an almost puzzled look. She noted absently as she tried to decipher his expression that it was getting easier to look at him. Eventually, he spoke.

"That's surprisingly accurate given how much time has passed. The only thing that's missing is the fact that after a few years of getting lost in this underground maze, I finally found a way to get out of here, via the lava tubes, and I've spent the past couple centuries getting to know these islands like the back of my hand." He smirked. "Which is how I can now spend my days following around the prettiest wahine in Hawaii without her realizing it."

Sansa blushed and looked down at her lap. Surely he was kidding.

"So what about Waipahu?" She asked, pushing for a change in subject. "How did it factor in to all of this?"

At that, Sandor sighed heavily. "Well, when the Japanese attacked the harbor, Pele saw it as a personal affront, as she does with anything that hurts her islands. So she came to find me and told me that she wanted revenge against them. The only problem was, they didn't come back. So Pele sent me after the next best thing: Waipahu."

Sansa frowned. "But those people were innocent."

He shrugged. "When Pele's angry, she doesn't take the time to consider things like innocence. In all honesty, it's just a matter of time before she realized that it was your navy who brought the Japanese and turns on the harbor." Sansa looked at him in horror, but he gave no signs that he hadn't meant exactly what he'd said.

"What if you refused?"

"Then I would die. She would no longer have any use for me, so the power that's kept me alive all these years would fade, and me with it."

"So you're trapped."

He nodded. "But I wouldn't refuse even if I wasn't, manu li'ili'i. You know the story. Revenge, violence; I need them as much as she does. It's all I've ever lived for."

Sansa was silent for a moment then said quietly, "But if you had something else to live for?" She could feel his eyes on her.

"Don't know. I haven't found anything else that was worth it in the past two hundred years."

At that, she lifted her gaze to find him staring at her, his grey eyes dark and stormy. Slowly, wordlessly, and against all her better judgment, Sansa reached out her hand and hesitantly, with her eyes closed, rested it against his burn-ravaged cheek.

And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

Myranda was at the door when she returned to the hospital, a look of complete disbelief on her face. "Oh my God, Sansa. I can't believe you."

Still replaying her night with Sandor in her mind, Sansa wasn't particularly in the mood for any of her friend's usual shenanigans and she cast her a cursory glance. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what?'! You stood him up, Sans. The poor thing just kept looking toward the door with those big, sad puppy dog eyes, and you never showed! Finally, he just gave up and went to sleep."

Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but Myranda cut her off. "Don't you say a word. I'm not finished with you yet. Do you realize how long you were out there on your own? You could've been killed, Sansa—or worse!"

Sansa sighed and had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, I'm fine, Randa, okay? You're overreacting." She moved past her, but not before she overhead her friend's muttered reply.

"Overreacting. Hmph. She'd better be glad that man loves her."

That stopped her. The fact that Sam might love her had never even occurred to her. Sure, he had feelings for her—that much was obvious—but...love?

Though a part of her wished she did, she knew that she didn't love him back. Perhaps one day she could, but even that she couldn't be sure about, because she had never been in love before.

Of course, there had been other boys, one in particular, the son of her father's closest friend, but he had soon made it clear that he wanted more from their relationship than she had been willing to give and she had ended it.

But not with Joffrey, or any of the others, and not with Sam had she ever felt the way she knew that she was supposed to. The way her sister must have felt when she had agreed to leave the United States for good so that she could be with the Nazi soldier she had fallen in love with.

It was the realization that she not just didn't, but _couldn't_ love Sam that hurt the most. And she wished for both of their sakes that it didn't have to be that way.


	5. Ola

**A/N: **Hello all. This chapter is a bit shorter than I had intended, but it really just serves as a transition from Sandor and Sansa's current to future relationship, so it didn't really need to be longer. Anyway, here it is. The chapter title means 'heal' in Hawaiian. Thank you to my followers and favoriters and thank you to **morpheus-king-of-dreams **and **soubifan700 **for reviewing.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive. Except for Samuel Collins; he is mine.

* * *

"Sansa, wake up." The command was issued in the gentle lilting accent of Shae Tanaka, a Japanese immigrant and fellow Pearl Harbor nurse. The addition of a forceful nudge was what finally managed to rouse the pretty red-headed nurse.

"I'm up," she mumbled, sitting up on the edge of her berth and rubbing at her eyes with balled fists. Myranda swept by and deposited her nurse's uniform on her lap.

"Good. Since you had yesterday off you've got a busy day today. And a new patient. Some soldier whose plane crashed during the attack; finally wandered out of the jungle and made it to the hospital. He's got some nasty burns, but Gilly bandaged him up and put him in your section, at his request, so you'll have to figure that mess out."

Sansa nodded and quickly combed out her hair before getting dressed. She wasn't aware of any planes that had remained MIA after the initial few days following the attack, but the story seemed plausible and Myranda had no reason to lie so she mentally planned her treatment of the mystery soldier as she walked out into the main room of the hospital.

She began on the far side as she often did, partly to avoid Sam for the moment, and spent her morning making small talk with the soldiers in her care.

"Good morning, Seaman Mahiʻai. How's your leg feeling?"

The Hawaiian sailor smiled at her and shrugged. "No better, but not any worse either."

Sansa nodded and carefully removed the bandage around the splint that was keeping his fractured knee in place until he could be moved to surgery. Though it didn't look infected, it seemed swollen, and Mahi'ai's pained expression was proof enough of that.

"We'll continue your antibiotics until you're taken to surgery," she said, making the appropriate notes on the clipboard that hung from his berth. "That should help take down the swelling and will continue to keep it from getting infected. If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded and then let her continue onto her next patient, the mystery soldier according to her patient list.

He was lying very still on his berth when she arrived and she cast him a cursory glance before looking at the initial notes that Gilly had jotted down.

"If you haven't already heard, we're going to put you on an antibiotic to prevent infection, and I'll go get you some morphine in a just a minute if you need any for the pain. Are you experiencing any pain, sir?"

Her question was met with a low chuckle. "I think I would need something a bit stronger than morphine if these burns still hurt after all this time, manu li'ili'i."

Sansa's head snapped up and she looked at her patient in disbelief. She knew that voice. And those eyes, which were currently regarding her with uncontained amusement.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him to detract attention from their interaction.

"You took my clothes," he said matter-of-factly. "And I'd like them back."

At that, Sansa blushed slightly and she leaned in before replying hotly, "Well, you stole my..." her blush deepened. "...underwear." She had to slap him on the arm to stop his laughter before it alerted the entire medical staff. When she had redressed the night before after discovering Sandor on the beach, she had been too focused on their impending adventure to pay much attention to what she was wearing, or, more precisely, what she _wasn't_. It wasn't until she returned to the hospital that she realized her panties had been missing from the beach where she had left them. It wasn't too difficult to figure out where they had gone after that.

"A fair trade, I think," he responded, grinning widely at her obvious embarrassment and then adding, "I didn't know you could afford lace on a nurse's salary."

Sansa knew that her face had to be an unparalleled shade of red and she shielded it from the rest of the hospital with a hand to her temple. "They were a gift," she snapped. "Not that that's any of your business. And besides, I only took your clothes so that I could patch them before they completely fell apart. So you _should_ be thanking me, not humiliating me."

He shrugged slightly and then glossed over her reasoning. "A gift? From who?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "My sister, if you must know. She told me that if I was determined to join the war effort, I might as well have a little fun while I was here."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "And have you? 'Had fun'?"

She squinted back at him and sniffed haughtily. "I don't see why that's any of your concern."

"So no."

She floundered for a moment, then sighed and gave up, crossing her arms. "You're wasting valuable resources you know." She nodded toward the bandages that covered all of his face except for his eyes and lips. He shrugged again.

"I wanted to see you. And apologize for my quick exit last night. I just...wasn't expecting what you did."

Sansa looked down at her lap. She hadn't been expecting what she had done either. And yet, she had still done it. And didn't yet regret it.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, demurely, still avoiding his gaze.

He waved aside the apology and then sighed heavily. "Well, as much as I'd like to, I can't take all your time." His eyes roamed the room and then narrowed slightly. "Where's the young blond that you belong to?"

At that, Sansa met his gaze again, a slight frown marring her usually pretty features. "His name is Samuel Collins. And besides, I don't _belong_ to him." The thought of exclusively dating Sam made her blush slightly, a change that Sandor didn't fail to notice.

Snorting, he crossed his arms and readjusted himself in the bed he had claimed. "Well, you should probably go see him anyway. He's been staring at you all morning." Sansa turned her head to find that the statement was true, and she hastily looked away from Sam's hurt expression.

"Fine." She put the clipboard for his treatment back down and aimed a warning finger in his direction. "But don't you get into any trouble while I'm gone."

She ignored the "no promises" that he tossed at her retreating form and she continued her morning rounds without further delay, assuring each wounded soldier that he would receive the best care possible and that he would recover in no time and be able to serve again in the still raging war. When she finally reached Sam, she was exhausted and she plopped down in the chair beside his bed before looking up to meet his eyes.

"Good morning, Sam."

He smiled a bit tersely. "Good morning."

At his expression, she sighed. "I wanted to apologize for last night. I was so relieved to have a day to myself that I completely lost track of time. I promise that I had every intention to meet you at sunset. I just...I'm so sorry."

His smile grew at her sincere apology and he shrugged. "It's alright. As long as you didn't mean to stand me up. That helps my pride a bit." Sansa laughed and he continued. "So are we on for tonight or do you want to wait a few days until things here have slowed down a bit?"

The prospect of not having to fake her feelings for a few days was a pleasant one. "A few days would be great. Things here are just so busy, and I don't think I'd truly be able to give you my full attention tonight. Too much on my mind."

Sam nodded in understanding and reached out to take her hand. "As long as you promise me that I'll have all of you when I do finally get to have you."

Sansa hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether there was a second meaning behind his words, but deeming a vow to be safe, she nodded. "I promise."

Smiling, he squeezed her hand and then reached out to take her chin between his fingers as he moved his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and they lingered for a moment before releasing her as she blushed and looked away. Her eyes traveled toward Sandor's bed of their own accord and her heart skipped a beat when she found it empty.

Scrambling to her feet, she looked around frantically then met Sam's puzzled gaze and stammered a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, I—I have to go."

She rushed to the other side of the hospital and caught Gilly before she disappeared into the nurses' quarters. "Gilly, have you seen the man that came in this morning? The one with the burns?"

The younger woman frowned and shook her head. "Not since he first showed up. Why? Is everything okay, Sansa?"

She was too busy running to the exit to respond and when she burst out onto the harbor, she saw a tall dark figure walking swiftly toward the jungle. Without hesitation, she ran after him. "Sandor!"

He turned at the sound of his name and stood waiting with his arms crossed while she caught up to him. His expression was hostile when she finally reached his side. "You lied to me." His eyes narrowed and he added coldly, "I hate liars."

Sansa looked at him in confusion. "Lied? What are you talking about?"

His eyes were angry when he met her gaze again and when he spoke, his voice was a high-pitched mocking imitation of her own. "His name is Samuel Collins. And besides, I don't _belong_ to him..." He snorted. "Well, from the way he kissed you, I'd say he at least owns your lips!"

Sansa stared at him in disbelief and frustration. "Why should you care how any other man kisses me? What are you? Jealous?" As he continued to glare at her, her anger grew and in a fit of rage to rival his own, she closed the gap between them and kissed him hard on the lips. "There! Is that you wanted?" She poked a finger against his chest. "No part of me belongs to any man, Sandor Clegane, and I intend to keep it that way."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving him to stare after the petite nurse in both admiration and complete and utter confusion.


	6. Ano'i

**A/N: **Okay, so I actually finished this chapter yesterday afternoon, but I spent the past day agonizing over whether I wanted what happens in it to actually happen yet. In the end, I didn't change it, so...here it is, regardless. The title of this chapter means 'desire', 'maika'i' means 'beautiful', and 'kenikeni' means 'coin', because I couldn't find a Hawaiian translation of 'penny', specifically. Thank you to my followers/favoriters, and to **BookFinder**, **morpheus-king-of-dreams**, and **Mari88** for reviewing. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive. Except for Sam; he is mine (and the real Sam should be coming back home soon, so yay!).

* * *

She didn't see him for over two weeks after that. Christmas came and went, and now it was New Year's Eve, and she sat alone on her bed in the nurses' quarters, thinking about the terrible burned man of the jungle; again. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to see him again, per se; it was just that, unlike as was usually the case, she hadn't gone looking for him. She was too proud to apologize for her anger, and far too embarrassed to face him after what she had done.

So instead she had kept herself busy in the hospital, treating sailors and releasing them back to active duty or off to America proper for the newest in surgery and prosthetics. Sam would be heading home to receive his new leg on January 2nd which was why he was currently in Vice Admiral Anderson's office instead of celebrating the New Year with the other sailors. Sansa couldn't say she wasn't a bit relieved that his absence removed her of her duty to be by his side at midnight for a New Year's kiss.

Since her last meeting with Sandor, she had been spending more time with Sam, wandering along the beaches as he told her about his childhood or she read from _A Farewell to Arms_. While she enjoyed his company, she knew that her continued agreement to stay in a relationship with him could only truly end one way, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for marriage yet. Certainly not to a man whose kisses made her think of someone else. Try as she might, she couldn't erase the way _his_ lips had felt against her own; rough on one side, but smooth and firm on the other. It had been a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant.

On Christmas Eve she had managed to sneak away for just long enough to deliver Makoa Kahale's old uniform to the edge of the jungle. She had tried to no avail to patch the tattered clothing that she had taken from Sandor's 'home', but in the end, she took her old friend's uniform and simply added a bit of fabric to the arms and legs so it would fit the taller man before wrapping it with silver ribbon and dropping it off beside the tree line. When she had returned the next morning, it was gone.

"Sansa, you should be out there with the others." It was Gilly's voice that interrupted her thoughts and she looked up to see the young woman standing in front of her. Because she was the only one of the nurses who was currently married, she had agreed to take care of the patients that didn't have the strength to join in the festivities so that the rest of them could be free of their hospital duties for the night.

Sansa nodded absently in agreement and stood. "Right. I'm sorry. I've just had a few things on my mind. Are you sure you don't need any help?"

Gilly smiled and nudged Sansa toward the door. "Positive. You go enjoy yourself tonight. You deserve it."

The party was being held on the beach since it was the only area large enough to accommodate all the participating soldiers and as Sansa walked out of the hospital she was met with the sound of laughter and _"Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy"_ by The Andrews Sisters playing from the hospital speakers as couples danced in the sand. She spotted Myranda flirting with Captain Tucker at the sidelines of the makeshift dance floor and made her way slowly over to join them as she weaved through the dancing couples.

"Where's Sam?" Myranda asked when her friend finally managed to reach her side.

"In Anderson's office. They have to work out the details of his upcoming leave."

At the mention of one of Randa's many lovers, Tucker's expression soured, but the pretty nurse quickly soothed him with a wide grin and a peck on the cheek. Sansa had no doubt that she would be hearing all the details of the Captain's abilities in the bedroom come morning.

"Well then, grab another guy! There are plenty here that'd be willing to kiss you at midnight."

Sansa shook her head. "I'd rather not. I think I might just go back to the hospital and help Gilly."

Myranda shot her a look of disbelief but shrugged. "Fine. Whatever you want, Sans. Enjoy yourself." She turned back to her temporary beau and left Sansa to sneak away from the party and disappear into the jungle.

Though she told herself that she had no intention of running into Sandor, she found herself returning to the hidden section of the beach where they had met the other day. It was empty when she got there and she sat down in the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring out across the dark expanse of the Pacific. It was quiet but for the sound of the gentle lapping of the waves against her ankles until she heard the gentle crunching of sand beneath bare feet and she didn't bother to turn her head.

"What's a maika'i girl like you doing alone on New Year's Eve?"

She sighed and lifted her chin from her knees. "Thinking."

She could see him sit beside her out of the corner of her eye before he stretched out on the beach and put his arms behind his head. "Kenikeni for your thoughts?"

_No. _There was absolutely no way that she was going to tell him that she had spent the past two weeks thinking about little else but the feeling of his lips against her own. She had been humiliated by him enough as it was.

When she remained silent, he sighed and then propped himself up on his elbows. "Where's Collins?"

"Speaking with his commanding officer," Sansa replied quietly, staring down at her toes as she buried them in the wet sand. "He's leaving for a hospital on the coast in a few days to get his prosthetic."

Sandor nodded. "Are you going with?"

"No." The fact that he still seemed to think that Sam owned her somehow was frustrating. "Why would I?"

"Because you've spent nearly all of the past two weeks by his side. If I didn't know better, I would say it was love."

"It isn't." The words had left her lips before she could stop them.

He was quiet for a long time after that and when he finally spoke up again, his tone was softer than usual. "Yes."

She finally turned her head to meet his gaze and found him sitting up, his face a few inches from hers. He looked uncharacteristically serious. "What?"

His eyes roamed her features for a moment before settling on her lips. "It was what I wanted."

Sansa's heart nearly stopped. _"There! Is that what you wanted?" _She found herself staring at the man at her side and her stomach fluttered with sudden nervousness. He was wearing the uniform she had left for him and in it he looked almost...handsome. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and tried desperately to calm her nerves. When was it that her revulsion had turned to attraction?

When she made no move to spurn him, he lifted his hand and gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Their eyes met and she answered the question in his with a barely perceptible nod of her head.

This time, he led the kiss, tilting his head to avoid her nose as he leaned in and pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to her parted lips before pulling away. She opened her eyes after a moment to find him staring down at her with a look of vulnerability in his eyes and when she managed to give him a small smile, he laughed quietly and leaned back in.

Her mouth opened against his as one of his large rough hands moved to the back of her neck and he eased himself back down onto the beach, pulling her with him so she was lying on top of his chest. This time, it was Sansa who broke the kiss, breathless and flushed as she looked down at the man—the legend—that she hardly knew, but was already, unbelievably, falling for.

"Dance with me."

He raised his eyebrow but didn't stop her as she got to her feet and extended a hand to help him up. Taking it, he stood and then just stared at her, his fingers still entwined with hers. It was quite obvious that dancing wasn't his strong suit, so she stepped forward with a smile and moved his free hand to her hip before putting hers on his shoulder.

He caught on quickly enough and it wasn't long before Sansa was pressed against his chest with his hand splayed across the small of her back as they moved in slow circles across the sand. His chin came to rest on the top of her head and she could hear him sigh as he tightened his grip around her waist.

Across the jungle, they could still hear the sounds of the New Year's celebration and the lyrics of Louis Jordan's _"Knock Me a Kiss"_ echoed crisply across the ocean.

_"When you press your sweet little lips to mine,  
Then I understood, oh babe.  
They taste like candy, brandy and wine,  
Peaches, bananas, and everything good."_

Sandor met her gaze with a crooked smile as the music faded and it was only after a few minutes that an audible countdown reached the quiet solitude of their spot.

_"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...!" _The sound of cheers burst from the tree line and Sandor tilted Sansa's chin up so that he could kiss her. After a few seconds, he pulled away and smiled down at her.

"Happy New Year, manu li'ili'i."


	7. One Hānau

**A/N: **I don't want to make excuses so I will just apologize for the long hiatus. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update, but I'm here now and my life's about to calm down a lot in about a week or so. That being said, thank to all of you that have waited so patiently and I hope that you enjoy this update. The title means 'homeland', 'ho'okahi' means 'alone' and 'makemake au 'oe' means 'I want you'. All in Hawaiian, obviously. Thank you to my followers/favoriters and to **soubifan700**, **Mari88**, and **bella526** for reviewing. Said reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive. Except for Sam; he is mine.

* * *

"So how was New Year's Eve? I forgot to ask."

It was January 2nd now and Sam and Sansa were walking along the shoreline outside of the hospital at sunrise. Sansa looked down at her toes when he spoke, absently watching the pastel hues of light that danced across the water by her feet.

"Oh, you know. About the same as it always has been. A bit overwhelming."

Sam nodded in understanding. "All the same, I wish I could've been there. If only so that I could've given you your midnight kiss. A girl as pretty as you doesn't deserve to go un-kissed on a night like that."

"How do you know I didn't find another man who was more than willing to kiss me?" Sansa replied teasingly, hoping that her blush wouldn't reveal the truth of her statement.

At Sam's grin she knew that the thought had never even crossed his mind. "Well, if you did, then I have a bone to pick with one of the sailors here."

_No, not one of the sailors._ She had stayed on the beach with Sandor for hours after midnight, telling him all about herself as he sat with his arms wrapped around her and his chin resting atop her head. And not once had she thought of Sam and wondered how he would feel if he found them there together. Only now was she feeling any guilt for her complete disregard of his obvious feelings towards her.

She laughed aside his comment and a comfortable silence followed that was broken a few minutes later by a heavy sigh from Sam.

"I was going to be an actor, you know," he mused quietly, almost more to himself than to her.

Sansa glanced over at him in surprise. True, with his bright blue eyes, wide smile, and boyishly handsome face, he could easily have been the newest poster child of Hollywood, but she couldn't picture him as anything else but a soldier.

"So why are you here?"

He shrugged slightly and stopped to stare out across the ocean at the spreading light of the rising sun. "Once the war broke out, I figured I would be of more use fighting for my country than being just another face on the silver screen. And now I'm finally going back, and what do I have to show for my time here?" Sansa opened her mouth to respond but he answered his own question, the bitterness evident in his tone. "Nothing. And one less leg than I left with."

"Sam..."

He sighed again and ran a hand wearily across his face. "I know...I know...I'm a hero. I guess it's just getting to me that I'll have to face my family like this in less than twenty-four hours. It's been easier here. Here, I'm just a statistic. At home they'll pity me."

Again, Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but since he wasn't looking at her, he missed the gesture and interrupted her once more. "Sansa."

She raised an eyebrow as he finally turned to meet her gaze. "Yes?"

"When I come back here I'm going to have something for you." He looked at her solemnly for a moment then added, "I hope you'll accept it."

It took Sansa a moment to realize what he was saying, but when she did, her eyes widened. "Sam, I—"

He smiled and took hold of her hands. "You don't have to have an answer for me yet. Just...think about it while I'm gone?" She nodded and he bent down to kiss the back of their joined hands. "Thank you."

Their walking had landed them at the edge of the jungle and Sam gazed contemplatively at the trees as Sansa started blankly ahead, her mind still reeling from what he had insinuated. It was a seemingly innocuous question from Sam that broke her from her thoughts.

"Do you think he's really out there?"

"Who?"

"That Kāne 'Ōkala that Kahale told us about. The 'burned man of the island'."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat and she absently scanned the trees for any sign of the man in mention before replying. "I doubt it. I mean, every culture has legends to explain the seemingly unexplainable. I'm sure he's nothing more than a story." _A story that certainly felt real last night. _She shivered at the memory of his rough hands against her skin.

Sam raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Yeah? I'm sure you're right."

They stood together in silence for a moment longer before Sam sighed and glanced off toward the harbor.

"I should probably head over there. Spend too much more time with you and the pilot will be waiting on me to leave."

Sansa nodded absently and cast a final lingering glance over her shoulder at the forest before allowing Sam to lead her toward the plane that was waiting on the harbor to take the soldiers who needed specialized treatment back to the states.

He left her side for only a brief moment in which he retrieved a few of his belongings before wheeling himself back out onto the dock and coming to a stop in front of her. He just sat there staring at her for a moment, and it was only when Sansa began to fidget in discomfort that he broke the awkwardness with a smile.

"Well, I guess this is it. When I come back, I'll be a whole man again, and ready to sweep you off your feet." He gazed at her for a moment longer then sighed heavily and shook his head. "I can't believe I won't see for...months, at least."

Sansa just nodded, unsure of what to say.

"I'll miss you, you know." He reached out to take hold of her hand and she squeezed it with a weak smile.

"I'll miss you too, Sam."

He gestured for her to come closer and she bent down so that he could kiss her. His lips met hers with a desperation that she wasn't expecting, and when they finally broke apart, he pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. After a moment, he spoke.

"Write me, will you? And send me a picture so I can show my family what you look like." Sansa nodded and when the pilot called for him to board the plane, he gave her another quick kiss. "And think about what I told you. I'll want you to have an answer when I see you next."

With that, he turned away and Sansa stood mutely watching as he disappeared into the body of the plane and the machine slowly rose into the sky, bound for home.

* * *

"I saw a plane leave this morning. Does that mean he's gone then?"

The question broke Sansa from her thoughts and she absently adjusted her position. "Yes."

Her answer was met with a quiet murmur of pleasure and a then, "So that means we're ho'okahi..." whispered lowly beside her ear.

She shivered and couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips. "Yes."

After Sam had left, Sansa had spent the rest of the day in the hospital with the soldiers that remained, lifting spirits, easing pains, and healing wounds. It was only after most of the other nurses had retired that she had managed to sneak out and make her way to the jungle where Sandor was waiting for her. Now, they were in his underground 'home', with Sandor leaning back against one of the cavern walls as Sansa quietly knitted a pair of mittens in his lap.

Sandor's lips found her own and her fingers faltered for a moment before dropping the yarn entirely and moving to rest against his heavily muscled biceps. She sighed happily into their kiss and pulled away after a moment to give him a playful smile.

"You know I can't spend every second of the next few months with you, though, right? I still have work to do in the hospital."

Sandor frowned, his burns twisting grotesquely. "Fuck the hospital. We finally have time alone and makemake au 'oe..."

Sansa raised her eyebrows. "Hm?"

He grinned and nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck before flicking out his tongue to teasingly lick her pulse point. "I should teach you Hawaiian, manu li'ili'i."

She smiled somewhat shyly. "I would like that."

"Mm..." Sandor hummed contentedly against her throat then turned to her lips again. As the kiss deepened and he gently extracted her from between his legs to lie her down on his worn mattress, her thoughts began to stray.

_"When I come back here I'm going to have something for you. I hope you'll accept it."_ Her stomach churned with guilt in the face of her disloyalty, but when Sandor's hands moved to grip her hips, her thoughts scattered and she focused back on the man above her. Right now, nothing else mattered. Just her, Sandor, the growing sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the time that they had to spend with each other...finally and blissfully alone.


	8. Ho'opunipuni

**A/N: **Here's chapter eight. Sandor does more talking in Hawaiian in this chapter, so the translations will be at the end of the chapter this time. Except for the title, which means 'lies'. The noun, not the verb. That being said, have fun reading, and many thanks to all of my followers and favoriters, and to **Mari88**, **soubifan700**, and an anonymous guest for reviewing.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Her Interactive and George R. R. Martin. Except for Sam, but he isn't really in this one.

* * *

_Dearest Sam,_

No. Too personal.

_Dear Sam,_

Sansa absently tapped her pen against the nearly blank sheet of paper and then sighed. _It shouldn't be this difficult_, she chided herself internally before flipping the pen back around and continuing to write.

_I hope that America is treating you well, and that your surgery went smoothly. I've been praying for your safe return—_

No, that wasn't true.

—_safety since you left, and I do hope that God has seen fit to answer those prayers._

The sound of footsteps behind her made her stop again and she glanced over her shoulder to see Sandor walking in from one of the many tunnels that led to the central underground chamber where he lived.

"Where have you been?" She asked with a hint of worry at the sight of his grim expression.

"Nowhere, manu li'ili'I," he said gruffly before changing the subject. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to Sam," she replied, glancing back down at the paper. He frowned at that and she sighed in exasperation. "If I don't, then he'll get suspicious."

Sandor waved her logic aside with a grunt and disappeared from view. Sansa stared at the spot where he had been standing just a moment before before rolling her eyes and lifting her pen again.

_Nothing much has happened in your absence._

Though that too was a lie, there was nothing else that she could say. She couldn't very well tell him that she had spent every free moment of her time for the past month with Kāne 'Ōkala, who she had taken as her...

She interrupted her own train of thought as the question arose as to what exactly Sandor Clegane was to her. They certainly weren't lovers—the thought alone made her blush—but she couldn't truly say he was her beau either. It wasn't as if they were dating. In the end, she concluded that it truly didn't matter and all that _did_ matter was that he was hers.

_I've been keeping myself busy at the hospital. Tending to other wounded soldiers makes me feel as though I'm a bit closer to you._

She set down her pen for a moment and sighed again. What else was there to say?

_I hope that your new leg is treating you well and that your therapy is successful._

_Love,_

No. She couldn't very well get his hopes up like that.

_Sincerely, _

_Sansa_

She reached into the pocket of her nurse's uniform and absently fingered the photo that she found there. Myranda had agreed to take it for her since Sam had requested a picture of her, but the other nurse had insisted that the picture be taken of Sansa in her bathing suit and while the suit was modest, the thought of sending such a picture to Petty Officer Collins made her a bit uncomfortable.

_P.S. I completely forgot about your request for a photo until now, but I promise that you'll get one with my next letter._

Sister Mordane from the Catholic school she had attended as a little girl would be rolling over in her grave if she knew what a proficient liar her favorite pupil had become.

With that, she folded the letter and sealed it in its envelope before rising to her feet and stretching out her cramped limbs.

Sandor still hadn't reappeared since his earlier exit, so Sansa decided to just leave him be and left quietly after placing the picture of herself on his pillow.

* * *

"Sansa, wait! Where are you going?"

She froze at the edge of the jungle, momentarily paralyzed with fear.

"We hardly see you any more, Sans," Myranda said a bit petulantly as she reached her friend's side. "As soon as you're off shift you disappear, and Shae said she thought she saw you leaving the hospital in the middle of the night sometime last week." She regarded the younger woman with undisguised suspicion and lifted one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "What's going on with you, Sansa?"

She floundered for a moment, caught tightly in the middle of her own deception. "I..."

Myranda's gaze immediately shifted to one of scandalized excitement. "Oh my God...it's a man isn't it? You've got a man on the side, haven't you? Oh, you little minx!" She swatted Sansa playfully on the shoulder and laughed gleefully.

"No, Randa," she snapped hastily, pulling away from her touch. "It's just..." she looked away and sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness before meeting her gaze again with tears in her eyes. "None of you realize how hard all of this is for me."

Myranda's expression changed to genuine concern and she frowned slightly. "What do you mean, Sans?"

Sansa sighed heavily. "This war...it's just all so much. Now that Germany and Italy have declared war on us, we're right in the middle of everything, and about a month ago, right when Sam left...I got a letter from my parents. Both of my brothers have been deployed to Germany."

Though that wasn't quite true, she imagined that it wouldn't be long before it was, and she _had_ received a letter from her parents the day that Sam had flown to America.

With a sound of distress and sympathy, Myranda gathered her friend in her arms and held her as she cried.

"Oh, Sansa...we had no idea. You poor thing...no wonder." She pulled Sansa out to arm's length and gave her a stern look. "You need to stop working so hard, do you hear me? Take some more time off if you need to; we won't ask questions. And you can go anywhere you need to to get through this, hon. I'm sorry we were starting rumors about you, although I have to say, a good man may be exactly what you need right now. You know, Captain Tucker, the fella that I spent New Year's Eve with, _boy_, he sure knows how to get a girl to smile..." She laughed and then looked up to meet Sansa's unamused gaze. Her laughter died quickly on her lips and she sighed. "Yeah, I know. We cope differently. But seriously, Sansa. If you need anything, we're all here for you; I hope you know that."

Sansa nodded and allowed herself a small smile. "I do know that, Randa. And thank you. I just...need some time to myself for a while. To think, and to sort everything out."

Myranda nodded in understanding. "Sure, hon. No problem. Just come find me if you need me." With that, she waved and then gave her friend one more quick squeeze before hurrying back to the hospital to finish her shift.

A moment of silence passed before Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and a moment later, a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

"My pretty little wahaheʻe..."

Sansa blushed even as she gasped in surprise. "Sandor! Somebody could see you here. See...us..."

He snorted. "We aren't even doing anything. Though gods know there are plenty of things I want to do to you..." His eyes were dark with desire when he looked down at her and Sansa's thoughts were suddenly muddled by the swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

"Sandor...they would kill you if they saw you."

She could feel him shrug. "I can put up a fair hakakā , little bird."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't have to though," she replied quietly, turning around to face him and placing a chaste kiss on his ruined mouth. "So, please, let me go so that we can go somewhere safer."

Silently, he acquiesced, and after a moment of walking side by side through the jungle, he looked over at her with a smirk. "That was a nice picture of you." She was about to thank him when he added as an afterthought, "I'd like one of you kohana though."

Sansa could feel her face turn red and she stammered for a moment before replying hotly. "Well, this way, there's more left to your imagination."

Her retort had the opposite effect than she had planned and he stopped to grab her roughly around the waist and pull her into him for a deep kiss. "I don't want to have to imagine it anymore." His voice was a throaty growl that vibrated against her lips and she shivered at the sensation.

"Sandor..." His name sounded a bit more breathy leaving her lips than she had intended and she gently but forcefully pushed him away. "Sandor, please. Be decent."

A dark look of anger washed over his features for a brief second before being replaced by a cocked eyebrow and an expression of borderline amusement. "Hewaʻole manu li'ili'i."

She decided not to even ask what he was saying about her, so instead she continued walking, reaching out to take his hand in hers in the hopes that he wouldn't be too angry with her. She just wasn't ready for anything more than the kisses and caresses that she was already allowing him to bestow upon her.

It wasn't until they had reached Sandor's hidden sanctuary that she allowed herself to speak again. "Where were you this morning?"

Sandor looked down at her for a moment then sighed and ran a hand over his face. "With Pele."

A surge of jealousy welled up in her chest and she silently patted the empty half of his cot in an attempt to get him to sit with her. To her surprise, he obeyed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him.

"Why?"

"She needed to talk with me," he replied gruffly, absently running his fingers through her long auburn hair. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "She's getting impatient." Sansa didn't respond for fear of hearing what he may be forced to do in his mistress' name and after a few minutes, he spoke again.

"You look like her," He mused quietly, twirling a strand of her hair through his fingers. "Though you're far more beautiful." Sansa smiled at that, but still said nothing, so he continued. "With your red hair, you're what she'd call, 'kissed by fire'."

At that, Sansa spoke up. "But you're the one who's been kissed by fire."

Sandor smirked. "Yes, I certainly have been haven't I?" Sansa blushed and then Sandor added with a hint of amusement coloring his words, "I think she's jealous of you."

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "She knows I exist?"

At that, he nodded. "Of course she does. She knows everything that happens on her islands." At her look of confusion, he elaborated. "Pele…She _is_ these islands, little bird. As are Kāne, Kanaloa, Kū, Lono, and all the others. They're a part of it all in a way that's hard to comprehend."

"Yet they can appear in physical form?"

Sandor nodded. "If they so choose. I believe the same can be said for your god?"

Sansa frowned. "Not exactly...but he did exist in human form once, a long time ago."

The man beside her shrugged and then smiled when she yawned. "No matter. It's nothing you need to worry about, ʻano'i. Rest now and I'll get you back to the hospital before your friends begin to worry."

Sansa nodded, already beginning to doze off, and she allowed herself to fall asleep beside the comforting warmth of Sandor's body as he moved to hold her, his lips brushing against her forehead as he smiled down at her and whispered quietly beside her ear.

"Aloha ahiahi, manu li'ili'i. Moeʻuhane maikaʻi."

* * *

_wahaheʻe_ – liar

_hakakā_ – fight (specifically a fist-fight)

_Kohana_ – naked

_Hewaʻole manu li'ili'i_ – innocent little bird

_ʻano'i_ – term of endearment, most akin to 'dear' or 'sweetheart'

_Aloha ahiahi, manu li'ili'i. Moeʻuhane maikaʻi._ – Good night, little bird. Sweet dreams (literally 'dream well')


End file.
